


a land that doesn’t want me

by crownedcarl



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Menstruation (Alluded To), Non-Sexual Intimacy, Period Typical Attitudes, Resolved Sexual Tension, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Male Character, Trans Trevor Belmont
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-02 01:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15786564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: The vampire rises, looks him in the eyes and calls the last living BelmontTrevor.A weight lifts from his shoulders.





	a land that doesn’t want me

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i am not a trans man & if there is anything in this story that misrepresents, disrespects, mocks or fetishizes trans manhood, please leave me a comment on what i did wrong and how i can fix it. additionally, this story contains mentions of menstruation and ovulation, some internalized transphobia, mention of past suicidal thoughts/ideation and some period-typical attitudes regarding transgender people. please be aware of these things if they're upsetting to you and/or triggers. otherwise, i hope you enjoy this & leave a comment!

Darling, his mother would say, straighten your back, brush back your hair. Your cousins are playing too rough, why don’t you sit with me? These are memories Trevor should cherish after the fire takes her and the rest of the family, too, but years later he thinks of her pained gaze upon his tunic and the same old restless knot of guilt builds in his throat. Being a disappointment, it seems, will follow him to his early grave.

He thinks of his mother often. When he thinks of his father, all Trevor can recall is the man looming like a shadow in his doorway, muttering _the child isn’t right, Louise, the child isn’t right at all._

-

He travels alone for a number of reasons, but the luxury of complete and total privacy ranks very close to the top. Nobody can question him when he’s alone, free to roam wherever he wishes, making temporary homes in forests, up in trees, in caves where no other creature dwells. Trevor has perhaps seen more of Wallachia than any other person alive ever has, but he finds no comfort in it. Rarely, if ever, does his solitude bother him, but some nights when he is recovering from injuries, Trevor almost longs for the comfort of a stranger’s touch, a warm fire to sit by. It makes him queasy, being unable to rid himself of that need.

There are nights in taverns where Trevor feels eyes on him for reasons he can’t quite discern, but it tends to be safest to assume that he isn’t wanted nor welcome for any number of reasons: because he is a Belmont, because he is a stranger, because someone didn’t like the look of him. Making himself scarce is useless when rowdy locals are aching for a fight, but making himself invisible is beyond hopeless. There is no hiding from certain people, from men with clenched fists and greedy eyes, so Trevor stops frequenting taverns, beginning to bypass villages and towns entirely unless the hunting is truly dismal.

Like all men, Trevor must eat. He finds his next meal in a village as of yet untouched by monsters, thanking the matron for the runny potatoes and undercooked meat. “You are a handsome one,” she observes, nodding to the back of the tavern where a girl quickly lowers her gaze as Trevor turns to look. “If you’ll be wanting company, she’s the one. Real talented girl.”

It tempts him, he must admit. To simply be touched is a privilege, but to make himself vulnerable to a village whore with a blabbering mouth is simply out of the question. Besides, Trevor thinks, eyeing the man at the girl’s side, there are some things he simply can’t lie to himself about anymore. He doesn’t want the girl.

He will never need another person again. Trevor promises himself that, leaving the village in a hurry.

-

The vampire rises, looks him in the eyes and calls the last living Belmont _Trevor._

A weight lifts from his shoulders.

-

Sypha finds Trevor battling the nausea early in the morning. “I will fetch you water,” she sighs, but Trevor curls in tighter on himself and hisses, stopping her in her tracks.

“It isn’t the wine,” Trevor mutters. He remembers this being the worst part, the few times he ever got close enough to someone for them to see him before flinching away in disgust. Wanting Sypha to see, to understand...it makes Trevor squeeze his eyes shut, jaw tense. “It’s something else.”

She tilts her head, looking Trevor up and down. She scrutinizes his tense posture, his arms, curled around his stomach, his forehead, scrunched in pain and his hips twitching with every current of pain that roils through his body. It is a uniquely recognizable position, one that he saw his sisters in several times over the years.

Sypha is no fool. Something crosses her face. “...I see,” she finally says, voice strange and measured. She has never bothered with pleasantries before, but now she refrains from calling Trevor every inventive insult she must have ready, instead busying herself with their purse of coin. “I will find something to ease the pain. Perhaps,” her voice wavers, uncertain, glancing at Trevor with apprehension, “Some cloth? For the…”

It goes unnamed, the thing that Trevor has come to loathe. “Yes,” he says, loathing it even as he must concede that it will undoubtedly make this ordeal smoother. “Thank you.”

-

Mostly, Trevor does not seek men during those rare times where he aches to be near someone, anyone, hot and prickling with the desire to be touched. On occasion, he seeks women, but men are dangerous and fickle. The need comes and goes, Trevor remaining alone.

-

Alucard approaches him when the moon is at its fullest, the two of them alone by the meager fire. Trevor recognizes a man with a hunger as easily as he recognizes that the weather is about to shift, but rather than rise and confront Alucard about the deep red of his eyes, Trevor simply sits and wait, content to let this play out. He is in no danger with his whip at his side. If Alucard wanted to hurt him, there would be easier ways than simply walking up in plain sight, steps measured and slow.

“What can I do for you?” Trevor asks, poking at the flames with a stick. He senses rather than sees Alucard join him on the hard ground, almost docile in how painfully obvious his self-restraint is. It must be hell, Trevor thinks a little smugly, being able to sense it. Being able to smell it.

It’s that time where Trevor feels restless and impossibly alive, yearning for a mouth on his own, hands on his hips. Alucard spends a long time staring at him before softly saying “There’s something happening to you, isn’t there?”

I want you to touch me, Trevor thinks, glancing at Alucard, at his blonde hair cascading down his chest. He has made bad decisions in his life, but this seems the single most foolish thing he’s ever wanted. There are plenty of mistakes to choose from, but propositioning a vampire in times of war? That might just be his ultimate downfall.

“You like women, don’t you?”

If Alucard is taken aback, he does an admirable job of not showing it. “I suppose,” he replies, tone bland. His face is another story entirely, hunger-stricken and fierce. “Why is that a relevant point of discussion?”

A grim smile settles on Trevor’s mouth. “You fuck women?” he asks, baring his teeth, rejoicing in Alucard’s uncomfortable grimace. “Have you ever actually…? I suppose not, being in a coffin for a year and all.”

“I had nearly twenty years before that,” Alucard snaps, then seems embarrassed at losing his control so suddenly, admitting to something so personal and crude. “Nevermind. Why is that any of your business?”

“You can smell it, can’t you? Aren’t you curious about why?”

Trevor learns something new about his traveling companion: he can blush. A pale pink dusts Alucard’s cheekbones, his mouth slightly open as he processes what Trevor has just said. If he’s repulsed, Trevor can see no signs of it.

Maybe this time, there won’t be any tears. Maybe this time, Trevor can have what he wants without the universe punishing him for daring to hope. He shivers under Alucard’s inquisitive stare, eventually sighing. “Go on. What do I smell like to you?”

 _“Ripe,”_ Alucard says, the word coming out obscene and guttural, yet somewhat apologetic. “Belmont, you smell divine.”

Trevor is not as far gone as Alucard seems to be. He takes a moment to think, to breathe; it could turn very messy, doing this, but who else is there? Who else could face him after knowing the truth and still want him? God help him, but there is no preventing this. Not now.

“Put your mouth to better use,” Trevor says, pulling Alucard closer by the shoulder, pulling him down.

-

Sometimes, Trevor thinks he might have spared himself a life of unkindness by simply wearing what his mother wanted and remaining as he was. People frowned on the women of the Belmont clan but rarely dared to cross them, aware of their training, but despite the sneers and the judgmental looks, at least the women could lead somewhat fulfilling lives. He might’ve gotten married to a man and nobody would have frowned or seethed to see them together, but Trevor would have never been able to endure that life. The truth of it is, if the fire hadn’t ravaged their home when it did, Trevor would have killed himself.

Perhaps not for a while, but if he lived any longer beneath his father’s demands, Trevor would have done anything to escape.

-

“All fathers are monsters,” Trevor says, “Whether they use their fists or their words, they leave scars. I imagine you can relate.”

Their discussion has not escalated to a fight yet, but Trevor knows it’s only a matter of time before Alucard becomes truly incensed. Trevor can’t fathom loving a monster, but Alucard has twisted loyalties within him, unwilling to accept that he might have to deal the killing blow.

“He loved me,” Alucard says, with the desperate inflection of someone who is very adept at lying to himself. “That must matter. It must have mattered.”

Trevor doesn’t mean to be cruel, but he can’t stop the words from forming in his mouth. “If love was enough,” he sneers, “There would be less suffering. Love is an excuse that matters less and less. We love people, we hurt them. Everyone hurting everyone all the fucking time because of love - what kind of world is that?”

He snorts, waving a dismissive hand at Alucard, who has already risen, eyes narrowed. “Love is meaningless. It does nothing on its own,” he shouts at Alucard’s retreating back, suddenly furious and incensed. “Welcome to reality, your fucking highness.”

Trevor’s love for his father is a bitter irony. People revere their dead; without them, Trevor would be empty.

-

While Alucard sleeps, bare chest rising and falling slowly, Trevor sits on the edge of the bed and makes notes in the bestiary. The worn leather against his hands reminds him of happier times, studying all manner of beasts as his mother spoke very close to his ear, explaining the meaning of words Trevor was too young to understand. What does he have to add to their story, he wonders, besides disgrace and failure?

There is a lump in his throat. He turns to look over his shoulder, at Alucard’s sleeping form. He is very beautiful when he sleeps, Trevor thinks, tracing the place where his teeth left a mark that quickly faded back to porcelain smoothness.

I was here, Trevor thinks. That’s his story: I was here, I existed, I was wanted. There are worse ways to be remembered. Anything else would be a blatant falsehood.

-

Alucard can be tender. Trevor hadn’t expected that. His skin crawls with every easy caress of that long-fingered hand, only stopping when Trevor flinches from it. There is a tense pause, then, when Alucard withdraws and noticeably stills.

“Should I not do that?” Alucard asks, soft and concerned. Trevor wishes he knew the answer to that, but there’s no easy way to tell him that Trevor is very afraid of being touched, yet that he wishes he wasn’t. It is no easy thing to articulate, these deep-rooted fears and desires clashing against one another. It was excruciating enough to allow Alucard to see him entirely naked, but there’s more than one kind of vulnerability, some terrors that can’t be helped.

He turns his head, looking at Alucard before it becomes unbearable. “I don’t know,” Trevor confesses, “Nobody else has ever…”

Trevor has a bad habit of flinching around men that remind him of his father. He sighs, turning his cheek into the pillow, feeling Alucard’s heavy and undoubtedly solemn gaze upon his back. “The world has never been kind,” Trevor says, “Not to men like me. Sometimes, I forget that you don’t want to hurt me.”

It is the most difficult thing he has ever forced himself to say, but Alucard’s silence doesn’t reek of judgement or pity. He simply breathes against the back of Trevor’s neck, pressing a kiss there without hurry.

Trevor wants to bury his face in the pillow and cry. He wants to wail and scream, but all he does is squeeze his eyes shut and sigh, lips trembling on the noise. I don’t deserve this, he wants to say, before clearing his throat and sitting up, letting Alucard settle his head in Trevor’s lap. He tugs at Alucard’s long hair.

“Nobody gave a shit about me before,” Trevor murmurs, “Wherever I would go, someone would piss all over the Belmont name. There was no point in making friends. Now, here you are,” he chuckles, “Looking at me like I’m in some way your equal.”

Long nails scrape gently across Trevor’s stomach. “Friends,” Alucard echoes, raising an eyebrow, his leg slung across Trevor’s knees. “Is that what we are?”

No, friends don’t do this, do they? Trevor manages a smile, Alucard’s hair flowing through his fingers, cascading down Trevor’s chest. “Aren’t we?” he challenges, if only to press Alucard for the fragile truth he doesn’t want to voice himself.

Alucard hums. “More than friends,” he allows, glancing up at Trevor, smirking. “I don’t kiss my friends on the mouth,” he goes on, one hand settling between Trevor’s thighs, where he’s slick and aching. “I don’t kiss my friends here, either.”

Trevor has to grit his teeth to not moan out loud. He likes to make Alucard work for it.

“Fair enough,” he concedes, the hand in Alucard’s hair guiding him lower, lower. “I don’t kiss anyone else like this, either.”

It’s the best he can do, but Alucard accepts it without protest or complaint. Sometimes, that’s all that Trevor needs: the unspoken acceptance that he is enough.

-

There must be more, Trevor thinks, than violence and horror. There must be more to the world than that which has plagued him for so long, persecuted by the very people he has sworn and doomed himself to protect.

Sypha joins him on his bedroll, unsmiling. Her hand finds his.

Beyond the trees, a village is burning. The survivors will be putting the fire out long into the night, seeing Trevor and the others off with hopeless gratitude for saving the few that remained standing after the bloodshed. He wonders what’s going to happen to them, now, whether they’ll be able to fend for themselves, whether Trevor did enough.

“What are you thinking about?” Sypha asks, one finger tracing the furrow between Trevor’s brows. “You look so serious.”

He smiles. He tries to, at the very least. “Only wondering,” he says, “If we could have done more for those people. There will be more attacks. Maybe next time…”

Sypha shushes him, looking Trevor in the eyes. “We have done all we can. We offered the aid we were able to. There is nothing else,” she exclaims, with an air of finality but not quite defeat. A moment later, she tilts her head, looking at Trevor with a tenderness that makes him burn all over.

“You are a _good_ man, Trevor,” she says, almost drowned out by the wind. “There are very few good men left in the world. You…”

Her hand on his cheek is cold. “You are many things,” Sypha goes on, even as Trevor breathes shakily and wishes she would stop. “But you are not dirty, Trevor. You are not bad. You are a fighter,” she whispers, her forehead against his. “Don’t forget that. Don’t give up. There will be a day where the sky clears and you will remember why the fighting mattered.”

His _thank you_ is practically a sob. Sypha doesn’t mention it. Trevor sleeps soundly that night, her hair tickling his nose as he nods off, her soft assurances easing him into dreams of open fields, where the air is crisp and Trevor is, for once, safe.

-

“We must go,” Trevor shouts, dragging Alucard by the sleeve in a desperate bid for the city gates that are crumbling under the onslaught from above, Sypha’s choking coughs deafening in his ears. “We have to go!”

Admitting defeat is painful. There are still people they could save, people screaming and fighting until their breath is stolen from them, but it must be done. The three of them must leave, or they will be ashes by the time the sun comes up. Alucard is a stone, refusing to move, startled eyes finally meeting Trevor’s when he screams _“Please!”_

Still unmoving, Trevor makes a decision. “If you don’t come with me,” he says, very close to begging, “Then I won’t leave. I will stay right here to burn beside you.”

It has the intended effect. “No,” Alucard says, stuttering, stumbling against Trevor’s side as he practically manhandles him to the gates, Sypha waiting there with an expression that’s all fury and bitter regret. “Belmont-”

“We all must make it out of here,” Trevor says, an urgency to his tone that becomes frantic and unhinged. How has he come to care this much? “We must live to fight another day. Alucard!”

It takes his hand making an impact against Alucard’s cheek to get him moving properly, running alongside Trevor as all three of them collapse in the charred grass. “You fucking idiot,” Trevor seethes. “You think I don’t feel this as deeply as you do? This is a fucking tragedy, but there is nothing else we can do! There are other places we can save,” he hisses, “And I will not let you die before the job is done. Look at me,” he demands, gripping Alucard’s face in his hands, “I cannot do this without you. We can’t do this without you.”

He feels absolutely empty, knowing how close Alucard came to abandoning all hope. It brings tears to his eyes. Sypha is weeping silently beside him, on her knees in the hard soil. Trevor begins trembling as he crouches gingerly between Alucard’s legs.

“We can save everyone,” Trevor promises, “We can. We will. It has to be together, you absolute fucking fool. There is no prophecy if one of us dies.”

Don’t leave me, he thinks, heart thundering in his chest. There is no point in holding back his tears, wretched little sounds escaping his mouth. “Alucard,” Trevor says, past the point where pride matters, “Don’t let it defeat you. We will put an end to all of it. I promise,” he says, “It will have been worth it. All the pain, all the suffering - it will be worth it. But you have to stand up, you _have_ to keep going.”

He wipes his tears, extending one hand to Sypha, the other to Alucard. “Stand up,” he commands, “I’m not leaving you behind.”

As one, Alucard and Sypha climb to their feet. Trevor doesn’t comment on the fact that his hands are still firmly grasped in their own; he needs the comfort, too. “Now,” Trevor says, pulling them both closer, turning them away from the town and the fires. “We keep going.”

Onward. That’s the only path left. Trevor takes the first step, grim determination thinning his mouth. They have a monster to kill, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> title from fatimah asghar, from “how we left: film treatment”
> 
> \- "I want a land that doesn’t want me. I love a land that doesn’t exist."


End file.
